The Chosen
by ChelseaTheLaugh
Summary: 10 years after tragedy struck Cassy is faced with more problems. Accepting death and then finding yourself very much alive cant be easy. It's made harder by being in Middle Earth follow Cassy on her journey to help rid the world of evil and find herself and maybe even love along the way.


When faced with death people say your whole life flashes before you eyes. That you become at peace with what is to come. But as I lay on floor with a burning in my chest and blood soaking into the carpet I realised something. They were wrong. That didn't happen for me. Relief. All I felt was relief. Relief of getting away from a life to cruel to comprehend. Relief from never having things that would always be just out of my grasp again. From the torment and ridicule of others for being different. The looks of disgust on peoples face when they see me. Relief that I don't have to continue in a world full of the mundane and never changing people, the sheer relentlessness of peoples vicious hateful acts. And I wondered how many others felt relief when faced with death.  
Mixed within all this relief I felt the slightest bit of fear. Fear of the unknown. Which I believe to be a rational fear. Most people when questioned about their fears would say something people would call irrational, such as spiders or heights, you get my drift. But I believe everyone has fear of the unknown….They just don't know it yet.

I should probably explain how I got into this situation in the first place. So ill take you back to my childhood.  
I has a great early childhood I had loving parents who doted on me and my siblings bit it all changed. I was seven when 'IT' happened. It was a normal Saturday. I was sat alone in my room drawing and listening to my sister and brother play together downstairs, without any thought of me, which wasn't unusual as I preferred the company of books and characters I created and they both knew that. There shrill laughter was interrupted by what I can only describe as a loud bang followed by a piercing scream. More bangs and screaming followed until there was silence. I did the only thing that my child self believed would make me safe. I hid. I crawled under the desk in my room and hid. I don't know how long I stayed there. I knew there were people in the house, but these people weren't safe. I didn't know them. Mum always said 'don't talk to strangers' and so I did what I had been taught. When I finally heard a voice I recognised it had become dark. Dad was home. "Cassy!" he shouted.  
I crawled out from under the desk and ran to him. He had tears running down his face and he had me in a tight hug. That was the last time I ever remember him hugging me.  
That was the last time he was ever my Daddy.

As I got older things got worse. Maybe they didn't actually; maybe I just recognised the signs more and observed things in a different way. Like most stories that involve loss, he turned to alcohol and drugs. By the time I was twelve I was completely independent, through no choice of my own. The life insurance that my mum had and the money the court gave us was all gone. Luckily the house was paid for so there were only the basic bills to pay. So I went out and did odd jobs for people. They mostly felt sorry for me, "poor girl is basically an orphan" they'd say. They were the nice ones. Granted it was mostly kids that were cruel but there were a fair few adults as well. You would have thought they would've know better. " just because your families dead doesn't mean you have to be fat and ugly"  
"I bet your mother was happy to go after looking at the state of you"

By the time I turned fifteen Dad had stopped working and was just relying on benefits, but I managed to get a paper round so I could buy clothes and toiletries. That was the idea anyway. He found out about the money and took it, using it to buy more drugs.  
At 16 I left school and got a job in a local bookstore. This was my saving grace. I spent as much time as I possible could have here. It was safe and I was surrounded by knowledge and hundreds of different escapes. I loved to read. Reading was one of the easiest ways to forget. I would day dream about being a Witch in Harry Potter, or falling in love with a Vampire, Twilight style. One of my favourites though was falling into middle earth. The rugged would be king and the elf prince who never misses. Oh the dreaminess!  
The owner, Jeff, was lovely. He knew my home life wasn't great and always made sure I was okay. He would ask why I left education so young when I was so bright. I would always just shrug my shoulders and he would shake his head. The truth was that I yearned to go back to school to learn all that I possibly could. Knowledge is power, or so the saying goes. I knew I would never have gone back into education. Not because I didn't want to, but because I couldn't deal with the people. I can not take all the horrible looks from the girls, the bitchy comments about how ugly i am and how if I get any bigger ill not fit through the doors. The boys aren't much better, but at least they do it to my face not behind my back. I stand at a tall 6ft but I am not 'pretty' in any sense of the word. I have angry ginger curls that go down to my waist when left down but I tackle it into a ponytail or bun most days. I'm pail. So pail in fact, that I would probably be able to camouflage myself in the snow, well if it wasn't for the hair. I am that pail that when I am cold I actually look purple. And don't get me started on the freckles. Head to toe covered in the bloody things. And that's a lot of body to cover because I'm not exactly on the slim side. More on the you should definitely be watching what you eat side 'my Gran would say' you aren't fat Cas you have a lovely curvy figure big bottom big chest, I bet the boys are all chasing you' and I would role my eyes, because:  
A) they most definitely were not all after me.  
And  
B) I couldn't give a toss if boys like my figure or not. I am a strong independent woman who does not need men to be chasing after me to make me feel relevant and beautiful…..Although it would be quite nice wouldn't it.  
Besides I don't think I am that bad. Sure, I would change a few things about myself, but wouldn't everyone?/p  
Anyway back to me dying. It was nearing my seventeenth birthday when I popped my clogs. I can't remember the exact date, but I suppose that isn't really important in the grand scheme of things. I had been at work all day, staying as long as possible to try and avoid my Dad. When I finally arrived home I was greeted by the same situation as normal. My Dad was passed out on the sofa high, drunk, both, I never really know. As always I cover him in a blanket and leave him to it. I was showering when I heard the raised voices. Jumping out quickly and wrapping myself in a towel I ran downstairs to see a man whom I know to be someone who sells to my Dad. I get the instant feeling that this meeting isn't going to go well.  
"What's going on?" I said, looking between the two of them as I walked closer to my Dad who was wobbling on his feet clearly inhibited.  
"Daddy dearest here needs to pay up or else" the man looked crazed maybe he had sampled something new, a psychotic maybe. He was all twitchy and jumpy. I was confused though, I gave him the money for his drugs, correction he took the money.  
"what do you mean?" I turned to my Dad, "Dad what does he mean?"  
"I'm behind on a few payments, all because of you." He slurred out.  
"But I've been giving you my wa…"  
"WELL ITS NOT ENOUGH, YOU ARE A USELESS PIECE OF SHIT!" he was so close to my face by this point I could see the beads of sweat dripping down his forehead. He turned away "It should have been you"  
Disbelief was the only thing going through my head. I understood his pain. I had been living with it for nearly ten years. I lost my family to. Years of counselling would never keep the nightmares away. I hear their screams every night when I close my eyes. My therapist said it's "normal" to feel guilt because I survived and they didn't, but that I shouldn't as it was something out of my control. I didn't actually kill them. I just happened to be there and still live to tell the tail. It was at this moment that I wanted to hate my Dad for what he had done or not done for the past 10 years. He turned to drugs and alcohol, but I had nothing, no one to turn to or talk to. Alone.  
That is my biggest fear. Being alone forever and I was living with this fear constantly, because that was what I was alone. Which is why I can't hate him because he feels just as alone as I do.  
Seconds had passed why I had my little moment, but it took just seconds for the dealer pulled a gun out "this is a lovely bit of family drama, but I just want my money and I'll be on my way"  
"But I don't have it yet I've told you  
"Wrong answer" he was being increasingly more agitated and I have to admit I was scared.  
"I get paid in 2 weeks I can give it you then" I tried to reason with him.  
"That's not good enough! I WANT IT NOW!"  
This was when everything sort of went into slow motion. I watched him take the safety of his gun and point at my Dad.  
"I DON'T HAVE IT!" My Dad screamed terrified, his eyes never leaving the gun pointing at him.

Now what happens next I would like to think I did it for him, to save him, because as much as I want to hate him, I can't. He used to be a good man, that man has to still be there somewhere and everyone deserves a second chance. So I stepped in font of him as I heard the bang.  
And so here we are.  
Death is a funny thing especially when your own death is upon you. It's so final. It is one of the few things in life that we have little to no control over, yet most wish they could whether for selfish reasons like living forever, or to bring back a loved one. I felt weightless for once in my life I felt no anxiety, no panic. Just relief. And as I watched through teary eyes the shooter turn and run, and the anguished cry of my Dad as he threw himself next to me. I realise something. He did care. I could see his lips moving but could only hear ringing in my ears. I could see his tears falling but could only feel the burn in my chest. But Id like to believe that whilst he watched me pass he saw the error of his ways that it wasn't all pointless.

I hoped my death would make a big enough impact on his life for him to change and become the man he once was. The man my beautiful mother fell in love with, the man that used to scoop me and my siblings up after he got home from work and gave us a bear hug, whilst saying "i missed you little rascals". That man, was the man I was proud to call Dad. If I had one last wish it would be for him to find strength to change, move on and find happiness. At least then one good thing would come out of my death.  
So as I felt my heart beat slow and my vision become bleary and the darkness take over. I uttered my last words. "It's okay, I love you."

What I didn't expect was to wake up with a splitting headache.  
In a forest.  
Next to a river.  
With a man that looked rather deadly with his sword at his side.


End file.
